


Masquerade

by decembersiris



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Fluff, Human/Vampire Relationship, In more ways than one, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, and jill falls for him, charming carlos is charming, fall for each other hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decembersiris/pseuds/decembersiris
Summary: “I want steal your breath from your lips. I want to rip it from your mouth and lock it between my teeth.” His voice was rose petals latching into her spine and seeping into her veins. She shuddered as he moved to her ear. “I’ll be inclined to return it, should you kiss me.”
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Jill Valentine, Valeveira - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot of an idea I have had in my head for a while. Vampire!Carlos and Vampire Hunter!Jill in a medieval time setting that still includes the respective characters from Resident Evil. Hopefully you all enjoy it!
> 
> PS I’m thinking of making this premise and setting into a multi chapter fic, let me know if that’s something you’d like to see!

“Miss Valentine.”

The voice, for all its charm and softness—the delicate tone like a bell in her ears—was one that Jill immediately recognized, and she could not fight the pull of her lips. She turned, her eyes of blue moonlight and speckled with golden candlelight flashed as her gaze met his beneath the masks they wore. A perfume was in the air, a sweetness about the ballroom as unsuspecting maidens danced and merry men gandered and drank.

Every guest was to wear a mask, as per request upon entry of the hostess, Lady Birkin, a woman of great repute with ties to the Umbrella Church. Her invitation called it a masquerade, and her guests, highborn just as their hostess, were to adorn themselves in decorative masks to cover their faces. An invitation too had been extended to Jill in the form of a work proposition which was promptly accepted, the chance to indulge in decadence and make some money on the side.

Before that greeting, Jill had been content to walk about the ballroom, gazing up at the large decorative bouquets of wildflowers hanging from the buttresses that aligned the walls to the ceiling. She meandered through the crowd, her fingers light against the cold stone wall, grazing against the heavy wood of the picture frames as she stared up at the paintings contained within. She stopped a moment to take in their beauty as a couple dressed in deep blue brushed by her. She felt their eyes lingering on her, but decided it was their highborn elitism that cast their judging stares and ignored them. Focusing on the artwork, one that caught her eye depicted a woman of delicate features, porcelain skin, flushed cheeks to imply a youthful grace. A gentle smile, nothing too strained, but she indeed looked demure, the oils of the painting, of the woman shimmering against the candlelight. The more Jill stared, the more she felt the woman’s features shift; she turned distraught in the orange glow, as if the artwork would rather curl up and roll itself away into the darkest corner of the room. But that was not all. There was a darkness around her eyes, the look of a woman who had seen and knew too much, who touched the abyss and returned changed.

As Jill looked into the obsidian eyes of the painted woman, she shifted her stance, feeling mildly uncomfortable as her hand lingered on the frame. The woman’s eyes pled, “Look away”, and Jill’s eyes traveled down as she dropped her hand, as if she had breached the woman’s private chambers of her heart, the deepest secrets unknown to all but her. She caught the swirls of a signature that was nearly illegible in the corner of the painting, but it was the title of the work that interested her most. “Mina,” it read, and Jill straightened, avoiding her eyes as Jill glanced over the painting one last time before turning away to face the crowd of dancers.

Her eyes had moved over every masked face, staring at each mask, some full length, others half to cover just the eyes. If she could not memorize faces, she memorized every design, fabric, color, swirl, feather, and bead that covered every stranger’s face. Gowns of satin, silk, and lace, every variation of blues, greens, pinks, yellows rustled and twirled with each graceful step as gold gilded men led flower crowned maidens around the dance floor. She even spied Lady Birkin herself amongst the dancers with a man whose hair was too dark to be Lord Birkin. She paid the lady no heed, content enough to listen to the music that swept up the couples, hypnotized them to each other, and Jill wondered how many truly knew who their partners were behind their masks.

As Jill’s eyes had followed the dancers that swayed and spun to the music that filled the room, she felt a pair of eyes search her out. Her lip twitched. She touched her own mask that covered around her eyes to her temple and rested over her cheekbones, feeling the lace and satin between her gloveless fingertips. Pivoting on her heel, she walked, her gaze leaping from face to face of the various strangers that inhabited the grand ballroom, shifting the waist of her skirt to adjust to the trousers that were seamlessly hidden underneath. Her trousers rubbed against her abdomen and inner thighs beneath the heavy skirt. A mild inconvenience that she would rather deal with than be without. As much as she enjoyed dresses, she felt naked without her trousers. And she would be a fool to be without them now; this was a work night after all.

She knew she had secured his gaze as she moved within the crowd, a shadow detached from the living, but ever present, listening, waiting, watching, just as he was. He approached her as she moved to the far end of the room, the majority of the guests within her sights, opposite of the musicians that plucked at strings, turned breath to bird songs, and beat drums to stomping feet, singing sirens for the crowd to dance. His footsteps were so light that he nearly all but floated to her, but she knew those footsteps like she knew her heartbeat. When she turned to see him, she was taken by his mask, a half-mask like hers, sleek black embroidered with an ebony dragon, its wings flared out wide, an invitation, a call for embrace.

His greeting to her was warm, and she returned it with a cool, small smile.

“I have never been ‘Miss Valentine’,” Jill said, “You know that.”

He was dressed in black trousers and dark leather that covered an ivory chemise. The chemise was buttoned up except for the top two, a thin “V” revealing just a touch of chest hair peaking beneath the cotton. A black overcoat covered his arms and the ruffled cuffs of his chemise partially draped his black gloved hands. His coat, embroidered with scarlet outlining the pockets and along the sides where his coat opened, accented with three red buttons along the torso, was long, its tails draping down to nearly reach the heels of his boots. He cleaned up well, Jill admitted but would adamantly deny if ever asked.

Carlos grinned and titled his head sharply in a slight bow of consensus, “Of course, my apologies, dear Jill.”

Her eyes narrowed; he was never sorry to annoy her. It was one of his few pleasures. 

It was then that Jill noticed the goblet he held, silver, and the contents it held piqued her interest. Her eyes shifted between him and that goblet. He did not miss her piercing stare and smiled, a look of innocence in his eyes that Jill did not buy.

“On my life,” he started, “it’s wine.”

Eyes narrowing, Jill did not want to think Carlos would be foolish enough to imbibe in blood so brazenly in public. But he’d been bold enough for other ventures, and this was not so severe as the others. Still, she extended her hand, wearing her suspicions plainly. His eyes rolled, but he consented, handing her his goblet.

“I told you before,” Carlos said as she inspected the contents. Sniffing it and satisfied that it was as he said, she handed it back to him. He went on, his voice low enough for her ears alone, “I can subsist on human food and drink well enough. I’m not such an anomaly that I cannot indulge in those delights anymore. I only occasionally need blood, and pig’s blood makes due.”

Jill watched him as he knocked back the remnants of the drink before placing the empty goblet on a tray that a servant held as he passed by. A brief moment of quiet, of mild awkwardness, and Carlos did not wait to extend his arm to her. She blinked, forgetting pleasantries, as if expecting his arm to turn into a snake.

“Stroll with me around the room. It’s something to do while we chat.” Carlos said, undeterred by her willful expression, “I won’t bite, not unless you ask.”

A wink accompanied his words, and Jill scoffed to hide the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Something stirred in the pit of her, something like smoking embers just before the sparks could spit. She swallowed as if to somehow cool her insides and said, “Tempting, but I have work to do.”

“I know. Why else would you be here?” He replied lightly, “I’m your extra pair of eyes and ears for the night.”

Jill considered this a moment, and, finding no mischief in his expression, no reason to distrust him, and pleased by his offer of aid, she took his arm. Their arms interlinked and her hand rested upon his as was customary, and together they slowly began their stroll around the room as couples danced and groups chatted.

As they went, they went in silence. Jill’s eyes roamed about the ballroom, looking at and amongst the people, alternating from them to the paintings on the wall. As they passed by Mina, she felt a shiver slide up her spine, something cool yet soft, and a pang of guilt struck her. Those eyes reminded her whose side she walked by, whose hand held hers while they strolled, and she found herself eager to leave the painting’s field of vision.

And, as Jill exhaled the breath she had forgotten she was holding, she felt the slightest squeeze of her hand from Carlos. Did he sense that twinge of anxiety she felt? The tension rolled off her shoulders but clung to the center of her spine. The old warnings she thought she had buried flared again, every instinct telling her to fight, to resist him, and a part of her felt traitorous, a betrayer to humankind for enjoying his company. She did not want to think of the blood he had shed, of the people he fed on. But Mina’s eyes reminded her of who he was and who she was. But yet, logical and rational as she was, she knew if he was different, that his fate wasn’t his choice. And if he desired to kill her, he would have tried it already. He hadn’t, hasn’t, and instead offered his aid. And she chose to take it, but the guilt still nipped at her, a dog at her ankles. She had battled these feelings before. She’d bury those feelings again, she swore, she had nothing to fear from him.

All the while the pair said nothing, and Jill was reminded of what he had told her during one of their first encounters. He had told her, not to gloat or to degrade, no; his was a warning. Vampires can sense their own kind just by the energy they emit. The air changes, the world shifts and slows. He can feel when his kind is near and can differentiate between them and humans, a power beyond human capabilities. And with the ability to sense vampires, an instinct within them, he can sense humans and their subtle changes with immediate ease; the most minuscule shifts in human behavior down to the very heartbeat could be read and analyzed. If he felt her change of demeanor, which she was certain he did, he was kind enough to spare her any invasive inquisitions.

She swallowed gently, and as he rubbed his fingers against hers, she felt a sense of comfort, of relief. The guilt ebbed and waned with every stroke of his thumb until the weight dislodged entirely from her spine. Damn Mina’s disapproving stare, damn whatever prejudices Jill initially held against him. Upon their first proper meeting, he vowed to never kill a human again, and she chose to trust him then. She’d put her faith in him again just as before and indulge in whatever delights tonight had to offer.

As she lost herself in thought, the world around her seemed to melt away, save the presence of the man at her side. She felt his eyes upon her, and any other maiden would have shied away from such a heated stare. But she was hardly a maiden. In fact, she liked the way his eyes travelled over her, following the lines and satin shimmer of her hibiscus skirt that was adorned with small lace blackbirds. From the corner of her eye, she watched him as his eyes roamed up to the ebony belt that served as an illusionary connection to her blouse that matched her skirt. Her blouse was sewn with a black trim of the same small silhouettes of birds mid flight at her neckline that covered her breasts modestly and the sleeves hung just off her shoulders. None would know she was not in a dress, none but him. 

“Traditional Hunter’s attire?” Carlos asked as his eyes found hers.

Her eyes rolled, “You know very well it is not.”

He waited, a look of anticipation playing upon his features that showed that he was expecting her to explain herself further. If she rolled her eyes any harder, her eyes would turn white and glossed.

“If you _must_ know,” she continued in spite of herself, “my supplier was generous enough to provide it for me when she asked for my assistance.”

“Might I know the name of this ‘generous supplier?’”

She hesitated a moment, considering how much she should disclose; shadows whispered within the walls. But there was no tension in Carlos, no shift in his stance or features that suggested an intruder of his kind.

Meeting his gaze, she said, “Annette Birkin.”

Carlos nodded, and gave pause. Jill could see he was calculating, considering, testing words behind his teeth before settling to say, “Our hostess of the evening. Does she expect you to put on a show in front of all her guests?”

She shook her head, “I’m no amateur hunter, making my kills a public display. And besides, she doesn’t expect him to come tonight. I’m a precaution, guard duty for the evening.”

“Ah,” he replied bitterly. “Very like the highborn blood to turn their noses to Death itself and host a party instead.”

She smiled at the acidity of his words, her quiet agreement, and waited for him to continue. She expected him to press her further, to inquire about the target Lady Birkin had charged her with or, at least, make another snide comment in regards to the highborn. But, staring up at him as they passed under the gaze of Mina again, Carlos’s expression was of neither displeasure nor bitterness, and he said nothing more. He returned to his lighthearted demeanor, just as he was when he saw her, as if her business had little effect on him. Silently, she was relieved by his indifference and pleased to see that his smile remained.

“Well, you look lovely,” he said, glancing over her mask that mimicked the blackbirds on her attire. 

At this, Jill nearly tripped on the hem of her skirt. She scoffed lightly against the heat of her cheeks, a low chuckle slipping passed her lips. He was never one to say a word without the chance of digging under her skin. This was no different. He looked at her quizzically, but she would not humor him, not at the expense of her own ego. And so, she was quick to change the subject, “How did you wind up here? Did you hypnotize Lady Birkin to permit your entry?”

He balked a moment as if she had torn the very rug beneath his feet. His expression shifted to feign hurt, as if mortally wounded by her words; he almost looked innocent.

“It offends me that you would suggest it.” He said, his lips turning to pout, “You know just as well as I that hypnosis is nothing more than Umbrella propaganda.”

“Then bewitchment, is it?”

He winced and whined, “Must you wound me further?”

Jill crooked a smile as she tilted her chin up, glad to be the one to annoy for once. They stopped their stroll where they began it at the far side of the room, opposite of the entrance. They stood facing the dancers, and Jill, unsure of what to do with her hands, settled by linking her fingers in front of her. Carlos stood beside her, a full head taller than her, and she realized how small she felt beside him. His raven feather hair was pulled back at his ears into a bun while the rest hung free to his shoulders. His handsome features were light as he stared at the crowd, and shadows casted over him as the candlelight flickered. His jaw, covered by the black of his beard was strong, sculpted, and following the muscles of his throat, she felt the soft sparking of her insides again, quick to take her as if the sensations never left. His skin, pale hickory in the orange glow of the evening was lovely, such that Jill’s fingers itched for the touch. How cold was he, truly? Her tongue flicked against her teeth, but her rational mind forced them shut.

She turned herself away, looking back over the crowd as she forced her mind back to her mission. But even as she tried, the man at her side was a looming distraction, a shadow like a web and a incandescent glow beckoning from the edges. Her tongue rolled in her mouth, prodded against her teeth, and she felt his eyes upon her again. She felt her cheeks warm, a sudden stroke of fear piercing her heart. Did he know she was staring? Did he feel her anxiety? Could he know the thoughts that seized her only moments before? She didn’t want to know the answers and chewed on her lip. 

Clearing her throat as if the noise would hide the flush of her cheeks, she asked, “Tell me Carlos, what are you doing here?”

He blinked, and he stared down at her as if her were an oddity or a marvel, Jill wasn’t sure which.

“Would you believe me if I said I came to seek you out?” He said, his voice sweet lilacs.

“Hardly,” but her heart leapt just the same.

“Well,” he began, his expression playful as if he planned to partake in a game. “Perhaps I’ve come to indulge myself in the affairs of the rich—“ Unlikely, Jill thought. Or maybe I’ve come for some entertainment; dancing is never tiresome—“ _A lie._ “Or, I’ve come to satiate my own desires.” 

“Other than hunger?” She quipped sarcastically, expecting another wounded look from him.

“A different type of hunger.” His grin was deliciously wicked and utterly cruel that Jill considered slapping him. She’d feel him then, even if meant the angry sting of her palm.

“So you came seeking women?” The sentence, an extension of her sudden agitation, alarmed her more than she expected. She snapped at the words like a viper guarding its prey. It wasn’t jealousy, she told herself, but the blood that coursed like liquid nightshade told otherwise. “I’ve been here long enough to know none of your kind are here.”

“I never said I came for them.” Carlos shook his head, a tenderness in his eyes that gave her pause. “And besides, there is no woman alive or dead half as intriguing.”

Her lips parted into a narrow slit as her heart hammered fractures into her ribcage. Her mind worked against her racing heart, rationality taking hold, and her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. There was no twitch of his lip, no gleam of laughter in his eyes, nothing in his features that hinted at a lack of sincerity. He had been full of jokes and lighthearted airs all night, but the deep stare he returned to her was serious and intent; he meant what he said.

Jill didn’t except to feel the flutter in her heart, a sudden beat and a sudden strike, as if she had been pulled up by a string attached to her breastbone, only supported by the tips of her toes. She rubbed her lips together, and swallowed the smile as she planted her feet firmly back to earth.

“How did you find me out so quickly?” She asked. It was a ridiculous question, she knew, but anything to distract herself from the intensity of his breathtaking stare. Anything to dissolve that expression he wore, one that was not quite lust but she could not place.

His smile flattered for only a moment, but it was enough for Jill to feel that itch of guilt. “As evasive as ever,” he remarked. But as quickly as that smile fell, his features remained just as mischievously charming. “I know you like I know a wolf among sheep. A dress and a mask does not disguise you.”

Jill’s brow, exposed slightly by negative spaces of her mask, arched, “Am I to take that as a compliment?”

“Have I offended you?” Carlos tilted his head, amused, “Would you prefer I wax poetic of how every woman pales in comparison to you? I imagined a great Huntress like yourself to take more kindly to a wolf than the false niceties of poetry.”

“You think you know so much,” she returned evenly. Any ghost of her guilt was gone.

Carlos’s brows rose behind his mask, his smile surceasing as he held his hands behind his back, “About you?” And he flashed his teeth as he grinned—his sharp fangs only for her struck no terror, and to her surprise, his smile elicited something else, an ignition of a starving fire from stoked embers. He continued, his voice low as he leaned closer to her, “I’m sure there is much you can still teach me.”

Jill turned her body away from him and faced the crowd. Her heartbeat quickened and her blood rushed through her, and with it came not just the heat from her cheeks that prickled her skin pink, but the warmth that grew within her, smoldering flames breathing amber. The sensation threatened to spread the way spiders weave their webs if she did not keep it in check. She shifted where she stood, her eyes traveling again, searching through the shadows as she struggled against the blaze that hummed impatiently beneath the smoke inside her.

“Yet, if I may,” Carlos continued, his voice like indulgence of the forbidden that her ears could not resist. “Of all of our meetings, this is only time I’ve seen your hands. You always hide them within your gloves. Everyone woman here wears them, and I am certain fickle Lady Birkin presented them to you. But tonight, on a work night, you forego them.”

He then reached down to take her hand. She flinched at his touch, but that did not stop him. His fingertips sent shocks up her arm, tingling throughout her chest and to her spine. She watched, mesmerized as he lifted her hand as if he had done so a thousand times, caressing her knuckles with his gloved thumb. She realized then she had been holding her breath as she stared into his russet eyes that shined like honey in the candlelight.

“Do you like sensations?” His voice, a rose encased in snow, enthralled her. “Allowing yourself to indulge your fingers tonight?” His eyes met hers, “What excites your fingertips, Jill?”

It was as if he had reached in and pulled the air out of her lungs and presented it to her as a gift. Her tongue swelled in her mouth, fat and unintelligible, and she felt foolish. Despite her best efforts to withhold it, she could not hide the smile that etched across her face.

His eyes shined back at her, a fire within that turned them gold, “Ravishing.”

Her cheeks burned her, and she hated herself for the simpering maiden he was turning her into. “You aim to charm me all night?”

“If you’ll let me,” he said, taking a step closer to her.

In an effort to reclaim herself and agitated by this tiresome dance with words, she met him half way and further, reaching up to run her fingers over the soft fabric of his chemise. “Do something about it,” she challenged, her eyes locking with his, “I can’t wait for you all night. I have work to do.”

Did she see a flicker in his eyes? Did she feel the sharpness of his breath? Did she excite him? She couldn’t be sure, not when he smiled down at her—his fangs caught the candlelight that sent shivers down her spine—and bent forward, his lips to her ear as he took her hand in his.

“Dance with me.”

She expected seduction in his tone and nothing more, but there was something else, something softer, warmer that she couldn’t be sure she heard with clarity. Her brow arched again, but his smile was kind that she allowed her elation to overtake her suspicion. He led her by the hand to the center of the dance floor, and as they went, Jill gazed down at his leather-bound hand that held hers. She wondered for a moment what it was like to touch the skin beneath the black leather, to feel his palms, to slide her fingers along the ridges of his knuckles. Was he cold as death? Or was there some warmth of life within him? But she could not contemplate further, her thoughts evaporating in a mist as he pulled her to him. 

He guided her hand to his shoulder and held her other as his came to wrap around the small of her back. Jill fought against the lovely chill in her spine that started where his hand rested. She sucked in a breath, preparing for the first step, the first sway in his arms, all the while his eyes of amber did not leave hers. And with the rising music he moved, his feet gliding across the stone floor, and through his guidance and leading, she moved with him, following along with his confident steps.

Carlos swept her up in the sounding, swirling sea of rustling gowns and sliding footsteps, autumn and spring mixing in a torrent of song-swept colors that reflected off the walls and flickered in the candlelight. And as they went, Jill could sense the craning necks, the turning heads, the eyes behind the masks that followed her. What was it about her that drew the attentions, the stares of the highborn? Did they see her as the outsider? Did she give her cover away so easily? But as Carlos led her around the dance floor, Jill found herself caring less and less. She did not care to fit into the world of the elite. That’s not what she was here for. But now, in his arms, she’d nearly forgotten she belonged elsewhere.

Carlos said nothing as they danced, his eyes fixated on her such that Jill felt warm under his gaze. A pleasant sensation, one that left a flutter in its wake, that made her yearn for more, for that quite sweetness.

He gently spun them, her skirt deliciously swished around them, and Jill did not miss the way his hand pressed against her lower back. There was some strength to it, a firmness to pull her closer, and she did not resist. A breath was all that was between them, and Jill’s eyes followed the line of his sculpted jaw and the dark beard that covered it, over to his chin, her eyes landing on his lips. They were full and looked soft, and she found herself wondering what they tasted like, how cold they were. As she stared, she felt her loins tingle, a sweet delight that she could not partake. But it was not her thoughts that tore her eyes away; it was his eyes that pierced through her, that strung her up against the wall with a string through her chest and out her back. And yet, looking up to meet his gaze, she liked it.

His smile intoxicated her, enraptured her as she stared back, the music in her ears and swelled in the air. The room melted like candle wax around her, and all other onlookers and dancers turned to darkness, turned into twirling shadows on the walls. She read in his expression a look of hunger, of desperation, of longing, and it thrilled her. He leaned in close, his lips a cold breath away, and it was all she could do to fight the urge to devour him. 

“I want steal your breath from your lips. I want to rip it from your mouth and lock it between my teeth.” His voice was rose petals latching into her spine and seeping into her veins. She shuddered as he moved to her ear. “I’ll be inclined to return it, should you kiss me.”

Her lips twitched, eager, hungry, but she fought against the sweet seduction, “More words, dear Carlos?”

He stopped their dance, and she did not hear the slowing music as her heart hummed in her ears. He tilted her back, and she allowed him to take her weight. His strong hands cradled her in his embrace as her hand gripped his shoulder and wrapped about the back of his neck.

He bent down, his lips so close, a ghost of breath upon her neck that arched so sweetly for him. Her skin tingled and she waited for his lips, the chill of them to set her flesh ablaze through to her core. They did not press against her as she sorely anticipated and instead grazed up her throat, softly, tenderly, and her loins burned beyond her control. His lips trailed up, following the line of her jugular vein that pulsed warm and red and fiery beneath her skin, up to curve of her jaw and to her lips. 

“Tell me, Huntress, where have you hidden your daggers?” His whisper was soft snow against her lips.

His question waded through the fog of her mind. Her lips parted, but she could not bring forth the words, none beyond the yearning she felt for his touch.

“Hidden them under your skirt?” He asked, “Or about your trousers?”

He knew, Jill thought to herself. Of course he did. Her mind turned to thoughts of his hand roaming up her skirt and over her trousers as he held her in his embrace. But then he swore, a deep animalistic growl within his throat that shook her from the haze that halted her thoughts. Slowly, he pulled her up from the dip he held her in, and every nerve inside her screamed in furious protest at such abrupt abandonment. The only consolation they had was his arms that remained about her back as if to claim her as his own. But even then their screams began to dull to a thrumming ache with the seconds that passed. And as she reclaimed herself, her thoughts and focus returning the job at hand, the ache hushed and quickly was silenced. It was then that Jill wondered for the strength of Carlos’s hold, if he meant to maintain inconspicuous as they spied the target or, with the way his stood—his chest puffed slightly, his arms like iron about her, and a seething scowl—he intended to protect her.

His lips traveled to her ear as he whispered, “He’s here, Lord Birkin.” And adrenaline kicked in, dissipating the last of the fog from her mind as her eyes flashing in understanding, with excitement. Peering over his shoulder, her gaze turned to the entrance of the ballroom. She had nearly forgotten her assignment, but damn her target for such horrid timing.

“And Lady Birkin said he wouldn’t show.” Jill said, her prey making his appearance at the entrance of the room.

Carlos sighed in burning frustration, “I’ll kill him.”

She watched the unsuspecting William Birkin as he stood over the crowd, his azure eyes wandering over the masked faces of his guests.

“Does she want her husband dead?” He asked.

“If it comes to it,” she answered simply.

They watched as Lord Birkin glanced over the people in the room, and Jill took note of just how pale his skin was. How lives has that man devoured? How long did it take his wife to notice? And how many others knew that Lord Birkin was a vampire? None of the guests seemed to notice if they paid him any mind at all.

Carlos shifted, tensing slightly, an animal ready to be unleashed. “He’s searching. Hunting.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

A snap of thread and the sound of what seemed like beads fell and clacked on the floor. Jill’s skirt came loose about her hips but snagged against her trousers. Carlos had torn the buttons. She didn’t wish to damage her borrowed attire but now she had access to comfort and mobility. Stepping out of her skirt, she could hunt with ease.

“Shall I leave you to it?” He asked as he loosened his hold on her.

“No longer my partner?” Jill returned.

“What do I get in return for my aid?” Carlos asked, turning his attention to William.

The blond vampire began to saunter through the crowd, and Jill’s heart pounded. So many guests, so many eyes, witnesses, and potential victims.

“Remove him from the crowd,” Jill said, “Don’t let him harm anyone, and I’ll give whatever you wish.”

Carlos was quiet too long, and she looked up to him, uncertain of what held his tongue.

He smiled at her, “I’ll hold you to it. And that kiss.”

And in an instant, a candle extinguished, and he was gone, and so was Lord Birkin. She pursued them out of the ballroom, leaving Lady Birkin’s skirt behind, and unsheathing the two daggers that she had strapped to her thighs. She had always enjoyed a hunt, but now she couldn’t wait to end it—and return to Carlos’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot claim the line from the summary and in the story as my own! It was heavily inspired by Meggie Royer's quote, "I don't just want to take your breath away. I want to rip it from your mouth and keep it locked away between my teeth. You can only have it back if you kiss me again."


End file.
